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weaver had not been born. I expected to be a painter.

Then, weaving superseded the dream of being a painter. For one thing, I found in studying the great paintings that in all probability I would never be a great painter. I would be second or third rate, at best. So I abandoned the idea.

In the first months at the University, I lived with my friend, "Bogie," who, it will be remembered, pulled me out of the piano box and made me go to kindergarten. She had taken an apartment near the campus, Then a wonderful thing happened. Father bought a house in Claremont, 78 El Camino Real, about a mile from the University. He made the move because my brothers and sister were almost ready for college and with all of us living at home the strain of the family finances would be greatly relieved.

The new house breathed happiness. It was a rambling old ark with five floors and fifteen rooms. Beautiful hardwood covered all the floors. The house clung to the side of a